Good Luck Charm
by inbox
Summary: Old acquaintances are briefly reunited at the Mojave Outpost. Completely unredeemable story-free filth, I'm afraid! Originally written for the Fallout Kink Meme.


The Mojave Outpost wasn't quite such an awful place to be now. The gates were open, trade was flowing, troops passed through constantly and there was always someone new to talk to when Cass bellied up to the bar to have a medicinal nip or two. Between that, her passably nice compound on the California side of the I-15 pass and the fact that her business of arranging non-company affiliated caravan guards was booming, life was pretty damn good. The past few years had been kind to those who happened to pick the winning side after the second war in the Mojave, and Cass had hedged her bets well.

Cass pushed open the door to the barracks and nodded a greeting at Lacey. The barracks were full to overcrowding lately thanks to the masses of Rangers and special corps flooding back into the Core region before deploying north to Oregon, and tonight seating around the bar was at capacity.

"I'd ask if you're having a busy night, but…"

"Understatement," said Lacey, gathering up a bottle and a clean glass and pushing it across the bar. "There's eighty-odd head in tonight and I'm out of ice. If there's a riot I'm counting on you to start swinging."

Cass pushed her hat back and stepped right into the personal space of the teenaged soldier seated next to her. "No fear, girl," she called over his head. "You know I've got your back."

A corpsman down the bar wolfwhistled and waved a handful of NCR dollars in a half-assed attempt to impress his buddies with his demands for service, and Lacey rolled her eyes. "You've got my back, I've got your bar tab. I'm sure something can be arranged."

The soldier at Cass's hip looked up at her with big startled eyes framed above a thick face wrap, and stammered if she'd like his seat. She gave him her most winsome smile.

"Well goodness me, I thought you'd never offer." She took his seat and, after a moment, gave him a second glance over her shoulder. Something about him looked awfully familiar. "Hey, kid."

He paused. "Y-yes m-ma'am?"

She grinned and toasted him with her first shot of the night. "You probably get this a lot, but nice beret."

* * *

She didn't give it much thought after that. She saw a lot of things, met a lot of people. Maybe the kid had either been through the Mojave Outpost before or his unit passed through. It was funny the random, insignificant things she remembered about nothing much at all.

Cass was more interested in talking to the ridiculously handsome Ranger who leaned against the bar and kept the crush of the crowd away due to his sheer muscled bulk. The flush on her cheeks deepened as he tucked a piece of red hair behind her ear with a big hand and winked at her.

Hell, she'd been a good girl lately. All work, no play. Cass thought he'd look good between her legs, and she'd probably tell him that in a drink or two.

"You can do better than that," murmured a masculine voice in her ear. It wasn't a voice she was immediately familiar with and she spun around on her barstool, ready to clock whoever was getting way too close to her face.

He was… familiar. Not too tall, not too heavy. Just average looking in every way, save strong broad shoulders and that same beret she'd commented on earlier. She hesitated and he quickly said _wait, wait_ and fished in his pocket for a pair of sunglasses. He slid them on and spread his hands wide, fingers strong and lean.

"Look more familiar now?"

Cass lit up. "Oh, geeze. It's… don't remind me, I'll remember in a moment. I'm shit with names. Bauer? Booth?"

"Close. Boone." He stuck out his hand for a gentlemanly handshake and was instead rewarded with a solid clap to his shoulder and a brief squeeze of his arm. "It's Cass, right?"

"You know it." She leaned over the bar and scooped up a clean glass, ignoring Lacey's tut of disapproval. "Care to share one with an old acquaintance?"

The Ranger, aware that he'd be so quickly banished, coughed pointedly and tapped her on the shoulder. Cass didn't even flinch, just said _it's been lovely to talk to you Ranger Dawkins, but a lady can't ignore an old friend_ and invited Boone to get comfortable.

"You look good," Boone said, then tapped on the shoulder of a hopelessly drunk supply clerk leaning against the bar next to Cass. He simply pointed to his beret and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. The clerk stumbled out of the way immediately, slurring an apology as he went.

Cass grinned and poured him a generous glass of not completely terrible whisky. "Poor thing. I think you made him shit himself."

"Hey," he said, sliding into place at her elbow and folding his sunglasses back into his pocket. "If I can't get some perks from the uniform every now and then, I might as well retire." He paused. "Retire again."

"And I suppose getting a drink from the prettiest gal in the entire outpost is a pretty good perk." She was grinning broadly now and clinked her glass to his with a generous amount of force. The measured look he gave her as he lifted his glass in a silent toast coupled with his free hand innocently, briefly, brushing the worn fabric of her sleeve was unexpected though, and if she was honest with herself, not unwelcome at all.

"I could think of worse things," he said, and she blushed a little more.

* * *

They spoke a lot, alternating between shouting to be heard across the noise and din of a crowd of soldiers and traders, or ducking their heads close enough that they could talk into each other's ear. A few years was a long time in the desert, and there was a lot to catch up on.

Cass had done well for herself after she'd split from New Vegas, and eventually she'd arrived back at the Outpost right as the trade routes were deemed safe enough to reopen. She'd arranged a few private hires of solid, trustworthy caravan guards and scouts, then word spread and she'd developed a good business with reliable repeat customers and an excellent reputation. A small settlement had sprung up on the other side of the Outpost after a few months and eventually she took over a house, paid the NCR for the hire of convict labourers to make it into the adobe-style home she remembered from childhood, and she'd finally settled down into what could almost pass for respectability.

Boone just pointed at his beret. He'd re-enlisted and passed the marksmanship exam within a day or two, then cooled his heels in a secondary sharpshooting squad for a few months before a spot opened up in First Recon. He'd been busy. _Life is never too quiet when you were the best of the best, _he said, completely without ego.

"Well, you're looking good for it."

He chuckled. "Well, thank you. You're a liar, but thanks."

The crowd surged again as more people flooded into the bar, steaming and shouting that it was raining outside. They pushed and shoved into the crush by the door and Boone was pushed harder towards the counter. Without forethought she pressed a hand to his chest to steady him. He'd obviously stripped off armour plating and a network of straps and buckles from over his dun-coloured BDUs, and she rubbed the demarcation between sun-faded fabric and richer pristine colour with her thumb, not entirely unaware of the solid mass of muscle hidden behind fabric.

"Hey there," he said, barely loud enough that she could hear him over the crowd.

She raised an eyebrow. "Hey yourself. Feel free to tell me to put my hands away." She waited for him to take a sip of his drink before adding as an afterthought, "Or tell me exactly where you want me to put them. I'm not above taking orders from a man in uniform. I'll even wear the hat."

Boone shook his head, visibly amused, opting to return his glass to the safety of the bar before she could take him by surprise again. "I'd be mad to tell you to stop," he said plainly, and Cass didn't bother repressing the pleasurable shiver she got at the feel of a warm hand settling on the small of her back, fingertips seeking out the sliver of bare skin between her jeans and the hem of her shirt.

* * *

Cass freely admitted that she'd been more than in the mood when she'd arrived this evening, and the bantering back and forth with the big Ranger – she'd totally forgotten his name now. Davis? Dean? – had only served to heighten her anticipation. Now, hours later, her nerves were on fire and she visibly shifted in her seat each time Boone's hand skimmed down her ribs to brush against her breast or he dipped his head to her ear.

"You look like you've got fireants in your pants," said Boone, looking supremely amused. His expression faltered slightly when Cass deliberately brushed the back of her hand across the front of his trousers, pushing against what she knew was a rapidly hardening dick prime for exploration. She cupped him through the coarse fabric, feeling the way he filled her hand, safe in the knowledge that no one could see her under the protective crush of the crowd.

"I wouldn't normally make a point of doing this," Cass said, then laughed at her own blatant lie. "Well, I would because I don't have any impulse control. That's besides the point though." She drained her glass and tapped it on the counter, sliding it far enough over that Lacey would notice that she'd left. She jammed her straw hat on her head and slid off the barstool, her body pressed flush to Boone, and caught his hand. "So what's your excuse?"

He took the hint. "I'm leaving tomorrow." He squeezed her hand and nodded at the door. "Want to be my good luck charm?"

Cass grinned broadly. "How could I resist? You can wear this girl for luck in any way you want."

* * *

The incoming crowd had been right: it was indeed raining, albeit gently, and the people inside shouted for them to close the door as Cass and Boone slipped out into the night. It misted down across the Outpost, a fog forming as the cool rain hit the still-hot desert ground.

"Fuck," said Cass. "Guess I'm not going to walk all the way home in this." She turned to Boone and was silenced by his mouth hot and hungry on her own. His hands dug into her hips and pulled her hard against him, the solid lump of his erection pressed against her belly.

"Well," she said breathlessly when he let her go. "Guess that settles it. Want to fuck outside in the rain like teenagers?"

They slipped further back into the compound, slinking hand in hand to the back of the administration building. It was dry there in the lee of the cliff, and Boone wasted no time in pinning her against the coarse cinder block wall.

"Is Ghost still around?" he asked, his voice muffled as he spoke in between licks and bites at her neck.

"She's – oh, _fuck_, keep doing that – she's gone inside. No one hangs around when it's a night like this. No one's gonna hear a thing." Cass didn't bother hiding back a groan almost worthy of a Golden Globes holotape as she felt blindly for Boone's zipper, wanting to see and feel him. He batted her hand away and she groaned again, this time in disappointment. Boone instead busied himself unbuckling her belt and unzipping her jeans, kissing her hard as he slipped a hand into her panties.

Cass supposed if she was a more prim and proper sort she'd be all a'flutter about being so wet and ready without little more than a howdya do, but fuck it. Life was short. Being a proper lady was for women with no fun in their lives, and hell if they'd know what to do if they had a man ten years their junior with his hand down their pants, muttering in their ear about how good their cunt felt. She might not be a lady, but Cass knew how to have fun.

"Still want to be my good luck charm?"

She threw her head back, relishing the feel of his trigger callus as he circled her clit with short, confident strokes. "Fuck, _yes_. I'm gonna kick the shit out of you if you leave me hanging though."

Boone grinned and extricated himself, dropping to his knees and carefully working her left boot off before tugging down her jeans and panties, leaving them bunched around one ankle. He slipped one hand behind her knee and tugged gently, silently asking her to balance her thigh on his shoulder. Cass could feel his hot breath against her labia and she obligingly arched her hips forward.

"Gonna sit there all day?" she finally asked, taking the initiative to snake down a hand and gently part herself to his gaze.

He exhaled sharply, making her twitch at the shotgun of cool air on her skin. "Can't blame a man for enjoying the view, right?" He tilted his chin forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her little tangle of strawberry red hair and, before Cass could make an indignant noise, greedily pressed his mouth between her legs.

She later decided that the sight of Boone holding her hips still with strong hands, looking up with delight in his eyes and his mouth and chin soaking wet and glossy in the dim light, deliberately mouthing _my lucky charm_ as she shuddered and shook down from a slow, rolling orgasm was maybe one of the nicer things she'd seen recently.

* * *

Cass had taken control after that, pushing his trousers down enough that she could take Boone's cock in hand and make a pleased sound about it. He wasn't the longest dick she'd ever ridden on, but he was pleasingly thick and a decent size and uncut, just how she liked 'em. She announced he was just to her tastes and Boone just laughed, wrapping his hand over hers and showing her how he liked to be touched.

"Any preferences, soldier?"

Boone didn't answer, just pushed her a little higher against the wall and looped his elbow easily under one of her knees. She took advantage of the moment, grinding against him until he told her to knock it off.

"You gonna fuck me or are you just gonna stand there?" There was no sharpness to her words, just as there wasn't when he smirked and asked if she was going to shut up long enough to let him fuck her.

Cass just sighed as he pushed into her, a pleased, indulgent sound. Boone bit at her neck and rolled his hips, pleased with the airy little pants she gasped into his ear before she dug her nails into his biceps and said that he should stop pussyfooting around and nail her before they both died of old age.

"Yes ma'am," he said, and endeavoured to obey all directives as issued.

If anyone heard them, they didn't notice. He didn't even care that Cass called him a thick-dicked pussy-splittin' fuck as she dropped her head back against the grey brick wall, her body arching as she came hard enough to rattle the bones of the dead.

* * *

In that floaty, post-orgasm state where she was maybe a little too soft in the head, Cass decided she had to hand it to this Boone, whoever this Boone was now. She only vaguely recalled a quiet, kinda fucked up guy who didn't say boo when they'd both been rolling with Six back then. He still didn't say a great deal but, considering that all she had was memories of someone who silently vanished out of the room a lot, this fella who knelt on the ground and slipped her panties back into place was a hell of an improvement.

"You're not even going to let me clean up? You're a sick one, Boone."

He looked up and run his hands up her thighs. "Want me to take them as a war trophy instead?"

He tweaked his fingers over her still sensitive slit and not even the protective barrier of shapeless grey cotton was enough to prevent her from making an undignified squeak. She decided he'd earned his satisfied smirk at that and chose to let it slide.

Cass wriggled back into her jeans without assistance and made a show of thinking, tapping a finger against her lip. "That depends. Think you'll be deploying back through this way again?"

Boone made a _maybe_ gesture. "Possibly."

"Then you can chat me up in the bar all over again and see how your luck pans out." She stuck out her hand and hauled him to his feet. "No promises."

"No promises," he agreed, and then he grinned like a Cheshire cat from the books she'd read as a little girl, toothy and predatory in the half-dark. "They'd make for a hell of a good luck charm though."


End file.
